


Testing The (Vulcan) Theory

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Episode Related, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 11:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21298430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: After an embarrassing dinner conversation in the captain's private mess, Commander Tucker considers an unexpected Vulcan theory on human stress.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Kudos: 61





	Testing The (Vulcan) Theory

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for episode 1.23 "Fallen Hero"
> 
> Having rediscovered the stick containing most of my fics, I've been going through the Tucker/Reed files and finding a few not yet posted. So, after a prolonged absence from the fandom - here goes with a quick one-shot. This one assumes a relationship between the pair started sometime after the events of "Shuttlepod One".

“She asked _what_?”

“The bang of all those popguns finally got to you, huh?” Commander Trip Tucker slanted a mocking look at his scandalised companion, winning a glare in return. “Okay, maybe I didn’t expect to get interrogated about my sex life by a Vulcan over dinner, but this is why we’re out here, remember? Doin’ things no other human ever has.”

A soft harrumph escaped the parted lips of Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. “I don’t recall _that_ being in the job description.”

“I don’t think it was in the cap’n’s either.” Tucker snickered at the altogether too recent memory. “Hell, I thought he was headed for a coronary when she asked when he last got laid!”

“Oh, to have been a fly on the wall.”

Moving carefully, pleasantly aware of a familiar faint protest in the anal region, Trip eased himself up onto his hip and gazed contemplatively down upon the tousled, glowing and supremely satisfied nude at his side. “She’s got a point though,” he conceded. “These _matin’ rituals_ of ours sure lower _my_ stress levels.”

“Mmm, admirably.” Perfect pink lips still bruised and swollen from his kisses pulled into a pretty moue, and Trip couldn’t stop himself dipping in for another sweet taste. “I assume you lied?”

“Through mah teeth,” the Southerner affirmed, taking advantage of his partner’s distraction to get another feel of the Englishman’s fine-carved cheekbone beneath his fingertips. “I kinda like my balls where they are.”

“Oh, I’d never damage anything of _value_, Commander.” Lightly tickling the aforementioned spherical objects, Malcolm peeked coyly at the bigger man, his flirtatious smile freezing at Trip’s uncontrollable flinch. “Ah. She mentioned the regs, then.”

“’s okay, I turned it around on her.” From those glorious cheekbones it was a small step into the glossy dark hair, and Trip took it in a single bound, burying his fingers deep in the satin strands. “She’s not Starfleet, so if she’s feelin’ that old _shipwide tension_ she’s so worried about…”

“Can’t see her dirtying her hands – or anything else, quite frankly.” The prim officer of Alpha Shift was another animal off-duty. Trip had known that long before they’d gotten intimate, but languidly arching into his lover’s touch was a saucy, uninhibited Malcolm Reed he’d never encountered before. “D’ you think they even have sex – the Vulcans? It’s all so _undignified_…”

“Once every seven years.”

Two very human eyebrows did a climb no native of the planet under discussion could ever equal. “What, even the married ones?”

“’s what T’Pol said, but she didn’t call it sex.”

“Wouldn’t deign to use the word, I suppose.” Lazily rolling onto his side, Reed brought himself into full-body contact with his neighbour, the friction between hair-spattered skins making both men gasp. Tucker’s trademark cocky grin turned hazy.

“I’d hate t’ be part of a species that mates instead of makin’ love,” he drawled. Malcolm grimaced.

“It’s only animals that mate,” he said, beautifully dismissive, in the engineer’s besotted opinion. “And they think we’re the ones barely a step up from the jungle! I suppose it makes sense, when you think about it. Where’s the logic in all that messy _activity_ when most of the time it doesn’t actually _achieve_ anything?”

Trip considered for a moment, then his full lips began to twitch. “’specially when there’s no chance of _propagatin’ the species_,” he agreed, just about holding a serious tone.

“_Please_ don’t tell me she expects us to leave the locals pregnant on this – _Risa_?”

“Any jokes about me getting knocked up and you’re spendin’ the rest of the night on the floor!”

“Actually, I’ll be spending it in my quarters.” With a regretful half-smile Reed eased himself off the bed and made a performance of tucking his lover snugly in. “You realise we’re going to have to milk the living whatsists out of this now?”

“Huh?” Watching the elegant brunet prowl naked by starlight had an unfortunate effect on the Tucker concentration. Even in the half-light, Reed’s irritation was palpable.

It was, Trip mused, likely something to do with the way he stopped dead, one pant leg up, one down as he stared, less-than-patiently waiting for a slower mind to catch up. “Riiight, I’m with y’. We’re supposed to be two straight guys who’ve not got it on in months. Everybody’s gonna think we’re…”

“_Gagging for it_, as my sister would say.” Blithely ignoring his boyfriend’s horrified sputter, Malcolm finished dressing and snatched the PADD which had provided his excuse for standing outside the chief engineer’s door beyond twenty-one hundred hours. “Anything less than dribbling enthusiasm and somebody’s going to start wondering…”

Trip pushed himself to a sitting position, the single sheet ghosting down his torso like a lover’s hand. Malcolm swallowed hard, tensing his muscles against the intemperate urge to throw himself back at the impossibly handsome blond. “I don’t mind a little flirting, if these _receptive humanoid locals_ are pretty enough, but there’s only one bed I wanna be sharing, Mister Reed, and that’s yours.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” Where raw lust failed, the unexpected sweetness of affection succeeded – to a degree. Malcolm leaned down, capturing the Southerner’s face between his hands and laying on a long, loving kiss. “Because I’ve no intention of taking a Vulcan sabbatical from my mating habits, thank you: and I’d have to if some Risan tart ended up wearing your beautiful bollocks as earrings, wouldn’t I?”

“They’re yours as long as you want ‘em, darlin’.” Tucker cupped the Englishman’s face in turn, holding him still for a second bone-melter. “Okay. We’ll play the game for the crew – kid Hoshi into thinking we’re a couple ‘f horny bastards chasin’ the nearest skirt to the door. Long as I’m in your bed both nights, I’m happy.”

“Really? I was thinking more of ecstatic myself.” Two whole nights without skulking in darkened corridors. Reed couldn’t imagine a more idyllic prospect, until he considered the joys of seeing daybreak from the circle of Trip Tucker’s strong arms. “I really must thank T’Pol for suggesting this! See you for breakfast?”

“We’ll have it in bed on Risa.” Trip promised expansively. “Hell, let’s have dinner there too!”

“In that case, I’m buggered if I’m bothering to get up for lunch – sir.”

Before the astonished American could find a reply, Reed bolted.

And any ghostly crewman haunting the corridors of B Deck at zero-three-thirty-five might have been astonished to hear hysterical laughter echoing from two separate senior officers’ quarters. 

Trip Tucker finally wiped his streaming eyes and turned over, burying his face in a pillow that smelled enticingly of his secret lover. “Hot damn,” he muttered, the heat of the words rebounding damply against his glowing face. “Now I’m gonna have to send T’Pol an anonymous thank-you card!”

**Author's Note:**

> Inevitably, there's a follow-up that I'm polishing up for the boys' visit to Risa itself...


End file.
